


bound

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: aftershocks [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Absolution, Aftercare, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Communication, Creative License, Dom/sub, Erotic Electrostimulation, Erotic Punishment, Erotic pain, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Guilt, Hand & Finger Kink, Handcuffs, Introspection, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Painplay, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play, Punishment, Regret, Remorse, Romance, Rough Sex, Smut, Sub!Clarke, Subspace, Vibrators, an alternative title for this was: forgiveness is hard and so is bellamy, dom!bellamy, if I say the shock batons double up as violet wands, informal power play, kind of, they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: bound: v.  tied; in bonds; made fast as if by a bond.Absolution comes, the rest falls into place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Did you read the tags? Yes? No? Either way, please read them again. Pay close attention to each and every single one of them. Google it if you aren't sure what something means. I need you to come into this fic with your eyes wide open. Yes, some parts are as rough as it sounds. There are sweet and fun moments thrown in too, fluff even, because no fic is ever just one thing. But bear no illusions that this fic right here is a light read by any stretch of the imagination. It's hard on the characters and the characters are hard on each other. 
> 
> I'm saying this because I care about my readers' experience when you read my fics. I know some of you have a healthy interest in kink and don't mind taking a tumble on my world of BDSM bellarke, but I also know that's not something most of you particularly enjoy and prefer my lighter fics. Like I said, I care about your experiences and I want you to enjoy yourselves reading my works, first and foremost. This fic - like many others of mine - may not be everyone's cup of tea and I certainly don't want any of my readers to get an unpleasant surprise reading it. So I beg of you: proceed with caution. If there's anything on the tags you think you won't be able to handle in the context of this fictional work, close this tab and forget all about it. I promise I won't be disappointed. I'll be updating [did I say it out loud (I wanna have your baby)](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/4252236) within the next couple of weeks so I'll see you then :-) 
> 
> If you're still reading this at this point I guess I haven't scared you off. Good. I hope you enjoy this emotional journey into the sweet debauchery of erotic punishment. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to [April](http://www.bellamyblakesprotectionsquad2k17.tumblr.com/) for her birthday. It's two weeks late but I hope you still like it! **7/18/2017 EDIT: This fic _was_ dedicated to April aka bellamyblakeprotectionsquad2k17 or however she's spelling that these days, but since she is a duplicitous cunt, the gift is hereby revoked. Fuck you April. Sincerely.**
> 
> I want to give a HUGE thank you to [Marissa](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa), my kinky twin of the soul. She metaphorically held my hand through this whole process, calmed me down when I lost an entire day's work due to technical issues with my computer, helped me with the summary and unequivocally encouraged me when I most needed it. I do not deserve your friendship but I'm lucky to have it.

 The forest stretches before them, hard packed ground with knotty roots here and there, foliage scattered as far as the eye can see. The rover drives over low bushes with ease, it’s the trees Bellamy has to keep an eye out. They’re spaced out enough that he can maneuver between them but it takes skill and patience. Summer is upon them. The larger trees have branches heavy with dense leaves hanging over them creating a natural canopy that casts shadows over the ground. The sun filters through the leaves and like stars on a dark night, the spots of sunlight create constellations on the fertile earth.  

Bellamy briefly turns his attention away from the sight ahead of them, from the road they’re carving for themselves on this untouched part of the woods. Curled on the passenger seat facing towards him, Clarke sleeps peacefully, her mouth parted slightly and her chest rising and falling slowly. A loose curl has fallen across her cheek, the thin clear hairs fanning with every exhale she takes and tickling her nose. Her brow knits and she snorts indelicately, pushing away the offending lock with her hand. 

He catches a glimpse of his reflection on the rearview mirror and the smile stretching his lips doesn’t surprise him. Even while the entire world is going to shit, he’s known happiness and hope with Clarke in the short months they’ve been together. 

He turns his attention back to the front and veers slightly to the left to drive around a log obstructing the way.  Beside him, Clarke groans and stirs. Bellamy makes sure it’s safe to look away for a moment and watches her as she stretches lazily on the passenger seat, moaning softly. The sounds are very similar to the ones she makes when he makes love to her with his mouth and Bellamy can’t help the way it affects him. He shifts in his seat, trying to be discreet.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” Clarke says, rubbing her eyes. She looks at him with a sheepish smile and a sincere apology in her clear eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t. I suck as a co-pilot.”

Bellamy shakes his head with a smile. “Shut up.”

She leans over and kisses his cheek before reaching back for the bag of provisions they brought with them. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Clarke settles back on her seat with a canteen and takes a long drink before offering it to him. Holding the wheel with one hand Bellamy takes it and raises it to his lips. The neck of the bottle is still warm from the contact with her lips and he savors that brief treat more than the much needed drink of cool water.

She takes the canteen back from him and caps it, looking through the windshield at the unfamiliar terrain. “Where are we?”

“Almost there. I didn’t wanna leave the rover behind like last time so I made a detour to drive around the thickest part of the woods. We should be arriving at the beach from the southwest in a couple more klicks.”

Clarke nods, turns on her seat towards him and tucks her left leg under her. “So there’s still time,” she says cryptically.

Bellamy’s brow rises. “…For?”

She smirks and bites her lower lip. Her hand lands softly high on his thigh, right on the space between the two buckles of his thigh holster. “Don’t you wanna be the first guy in almost a century to get road head?”

His cock twitches in his pants and he inhales. Just like that, a touch and her sultry voice laden with promise, and he’s hard as a fence pole. Splitting his attention between Clarke and the road is going to be nearly impossible but he wants it, yeah. “How do you know we’d be the first though?” he wonders. “Plenty of people have used the rovers. Miller and Bryan are very adventurous.”

Clarke pouts, genuinely offended that someone else may have beaten them to the punch. After all, if he’s the first guy in a century to get road head, she’d be the first to give it.

“We’ll ask them when we radio back with news,” she decides with a grin. 

She massages the inside of his thigh, and Bellamy adjusts in the driver’s seat, widening his legs as much as he can while still being able to control the pedals. 

Clarke runs her fingers teasingly over the holster buckles. “This is on the way.” 

She buries her nose in the crook of his neck and removes the holster with sensual slowness. Her warm breath fans over his skin and her hands wander to his crotch, cupping his hard cock through his cargo pants. Bellamy drops his head back on the head rest, half lidded eyes fixed on the way and distractedly steering the rover as Clarke touches him.

“I love your cock so much,” she whispers in his ear as she blindly flicks open the button of his pants and lowers the zipper before finally sneaking her hand into his boxers. Her fingers tangle daintily on his springy pubic hair, combing through the tight curls. The tips of her fingers touch the root of his dick and the subtle contact sends a shock of electric pleasure through his body.

Bellamy raises his hips slightly and Clarke lowers his pants and boxers. She smiles at him before touching her lips to his in a sweet kiss. 

She pulls back, takes his cock firmly in her hand and licks her lips, her tongue barely brushing his and her gaze locked on the heat of his eyes. “You drive,” she tells him sultrily. “I’ll take care of you.”

Bellamy’s heartbeat quickens, his blood boiling and accumulating in his ears, making him deaf to everything but the faint sound of his hard breathing and Clarke’s delicate suckling noises. Clarke lowers her head and he closes his eyes for a second when he feels her sweet breath over his hard dick. He senses the rover swerve to the right and he quickly snaps out of it. He opens his eyes and takes control of the wheel just as her warm, wet mouth wraps around him.

She strokes him slowly, pulling back his foreskin as she suckles on the tip of his cock, lips wrapped around the mushroom head and tongue teasing the weeping slit. She sighs and moans. He knows she loves the way he tastes, she’s told him as much repeatedly and shown him with exciting enthusiasm. She starts bobbing her head, taking more of his cock inside her mouth, the warm pillow of her tongue massaging the side on his cock. She’s never sucked him off from this angle and he finds the teasing, not quite there stimulation to the underside of his cock very arousing.

Clarke lowers her head until the tip of his cock brushes the back of her throat. Her gag reflex is activated by the slight contact but she fights it, swallowing around him and breathing through her nose. Bellamy’s sight blurs around the edges, the woods melting into a green and brown mass. He blinks and looks down just as Clarke angles her face towards him, staring up at him with wide blue eyes. Bellamy’s cock twitches in the warm cavern of her mouth and he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip to distract himself from the brain-addling pleasure she’s giving him.

Stretched by his cock as her lips are, he can still detect her pleased grin. Clarke retreats and lets his cock fall from her mouth with a wet plop, the breeze coming from the open windows chilling the warm saliva she coated on his hard flesh. Bellamy groans and she drops her lips to a spot just above his pubic hair, suckling and nibbling on the flesh while her hand slowly jerks him. He whines at the sharp ache caused by her lips and his cock twitches in her hand. She moves back, her eyes shining with pride as they examine the love bruise she created.

“I’m getting better at these,” Clarke purrs, swiping her thumb over the inflamed purple patch of skin. 

The moment she pulls his cock back into her mouth, Bellamy exhales roughly. He focuses ahead, using his hand to comb her hair as she licks the underside of his shaft from base to the top, treating his balls to some attention too, rolling the large sack between her fingers as she takes him into her mouth.

She clamps her lips around the head and slowly lowers her mouth until the crown of his cock nudges the back of her throat again. Bellamy jerks in his seat, reaches for the gear shift and switches to second as the rover hits an incline. He’s close to coming, feels the pleasure coil at the root of his dick and his balls draw up in preparation to spill his seed in the depths of her welcoming mouth. Then, he fists her hair at the back of her head as she pushes her limits and fights her gag reflex to keep his cock deep in her throat. His action seems to steady her. Tension leaves her body and she relaxes on him, taking him a little further.

“Fucking love your mouth, baby,” he groans, breathing roughly. She inhales sharply through her nose and tiny splash of liquid hits the top of his thigh. He looks down and sure enough, her eyes are tearing up as she fights the urge to gag. The walls of her throat tighten and convulse almost rhythmically around his cock head. Seeing her like this, with his cock demanding room in her tight passage, fills him with implacable lust. It’s a primitive feeling, one can’t deny and that leaves his balls aching and increases the pleasure coiled there almost to the breaking point. 

Clarke draws back a little for a much needed breath, licks and sucks his cock enthusiastically as she harshly drags air into her burning lungs, sensing he’s close to coming and likely eager to taste him. She massages his heavy balls, rolling them between her fingers as they draw up. Bellamy struggles to maintain control of the rover, almost misses a vital turn but catches on before it’s too late. 

He pulls at her hair with his fist and she looks up at him. As always, the sight of her with her lovely mouth full with his cock makes him a little crazy. He could come just like this, watching her. 

“We can’t make a mess here,” he warns her thickly. “You’re gonna have to swallow everything, baby. Not a single drop of cum gets past your pretty mouth, understood?”

He says it harshly, as if she didn’t want it, as if it was something he’s forcing her to do. In reality, he’d never do that. They’re transiting a new stage in their relationship and the only way it works is if they communicate and are in the same page. Bellamy knows how much Clarke likes giving head, knows she loves it when he comes in her mouth. But he also knows she likes to feel she’s not calling the shots, and the illusion that she’s being forced into some activity arouses her immensely. It took him a while for Bellamy to get used to that, despite how much he likes being in control, he doesn’t want to demean her or do anything she doesn’t explicitly want. He’s still getting used to it if he’s being honest, fighting the knee jerk reaction he has that says what he’s doing is wrong before the knowledge that it’s not, that he’s giving Clarke something she wants and desires kicks in. 

Accordingly, Clarke increases her efforts, drawing back so his exposed cockhead is trapped by her swollen lips and resting on the pillow of her tongue as she pumps his thick shaft rapidly pulling back his foreskin with one hand, and thumbing behind his balls at the base of his cock with the other. 

The last thing he does before letting his pleasure soar and his mind go blank is pulling the rover to a jerky stop. Then with a loud groan, he fists her hair and comes hard in her mouth, a feeling of absolute bliss filling him as he listens to the slurping sounds Clarke makes as she drains the cum from his balls and swallows it. Her moans combine with his and Bellamy catches sight of one of her hands cupping her cunt through her jeans. He idly wonders if she’s coming too and genuinely doesn’t know what he’d prefer: that she be so overcome with desire after pleasuring him with her mouth that a simple touch from her hand would send her barreling into an orgasm; or that she be so turned on she’s past that point and needs something else, something only he can give her.

Panting, Clarke raises her head, her hungry eyes on his. Her pupils are blown, only a thin ring of blue remaining around them, her lips are red and swollen, shiny with her saliva and his juices. A drop of pearly cum rests innocently on the right corner of her mouth. His large hand cups her jaw and she turns into it with a happy sigh. His thumb collects that teasing drop and spreads it across her bottom lip. Her tongue peeks out and attempts to chase the taste, but Bellamy wordlessly shakes his head and drops his lips to hers, devouring her mouth with a mixture of reverence and aggression. 

He wants to consume her with his kiss, exploring the inside of her mouth and finding his taste there. She crawls atop him and throws her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with enthusiasm. His hands sneak behind under her shirt, massaging her flaring hips up towards the dent of her waist.

The kiss slows, sweetens, retreats from the mindless frenzy into a more paced and comfortable exchange. 

She pulls back slightly, flushed and breathless, and rubs the tips of their noses together. Bellamy smiles, sated and happy, and watches the fog of desire clouding her usually clear eyes.  _ I love you _ . The words burn in his tongue, eager to be spoken. He’s gotten close, too close for his liking. At first they just wanted out in the heat of the moment, when he was wrapped in her slick heat and she bucked under him. But then they became close to slipping during the quiet times, when he watched her sleep, when he kissed her good morning, when she cursed up a storm because technical issues delayed their journey, when she felt hopeless and needed reassurance. Each and every time he bit his tongue because she wasn’t ready to hear them. She isn’t ready now either. He doesn’t mind waiting. His love for her doesn’t need acknowledgement or validation. It exists in his heart, in his soul, in every cell. The fact that he hasn’t shared the words with her yet, and might wait an eternity until she’s ready to hear them, doesn’t make the feeling behind them less real. 

Clarke sits back slowly, resting her back to the steering wheel and pressing her crotch to his. Bellamy’s spent dick twitches against the abrasion of her jeans. He’ll be ready to go in a little while, but first they have things to do. 

His hands settle on the tops of her thighs as she looks around them. “We’re here,” she announces with some surprise and – could it be? – a hint of regret. She squirms a little in his lap. “I guess we should get the fire started.”

Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk. That answers his question: she didn’t come. He looks at her crotch, the inside of her pants are ratty and worn around the seam of her pants. There’s a rip, thin and sharp, where the fabric became so thin the thread finally dissolved. Her fair flesh peeks through the small tear and Bellamy touches her there, running his calloused fingers over and around the bubble of flesh. Clarke groans and arches against him, encouraging his hand to move further up and cup her cunt through her pants. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bellamy says at last, with feigned nonchalance. “I’ll set up the solar chargers and you gather some wood.”

She makes a sound of annoyance on the back of her throat when his hand falls. “Now?”

He nods slowly and sits up straight, crowding her against the steering wheel and forcing her legs to open wider. “Sooner we get everything ready and out of the way, sooner I can fuck you against the side of the rover.”

Clarke opens her mouth and a small helpless sigh escapes it. “Yeah, okay,” she agrees shakily.

* * *

Green flames lick the thick logs she dragged to the fire pit, curling up in the air. Chirping sounds fill the silence as she watches the dancing flames. The fire is big enough scouts will see it from Luna’s rig. They’ll be watching them but they won’t make a move until night falls and the darkness provides cover for them. They still have a few hours until that happens, and Clarke doesn’t want to waste them.

She walks around the rover in search of Bellamy. Her skin feels tight, as if she was about to burst out of her seams, lust pooled low in her belly since that encounter in the rover and the promise he made her to fuck her against the side of it. She can’t get enough of him. At another point in her life she might’ve been scared by the level of her need and dependence, but not now. Not with Bellamy. She knows her feelings, as all-consuming as they seem to be, are a matching reflection of his for her. They’re equally invested in this relationship, there isn’t a third party or clashing interests that pull them apart. She’s never had that and it’s wonderful. 

She finds him doing a gun check and her belly does the familiar flip she feels when she sees him. He has a large duffle bag opened on the floor of the back of the rover and he is checking and rechecking the weapons they brought. While Luna has a strict rule against the presence of weapons on her rig, she made a concession for them during their short visit. They’ll need them when they leave the rig.

He hasn’t heard her come around so Clarke entertains several ideas about how she should announce herself. She could just undress quietly and poke his shoulder, then he’d turn around and see her bare and ready for him to do whatever he wants with her. Or she could discard one item at a time and leave a trail for him to follow. The day is almost unbearably hot, she could lure him into the water for a quick swim. She imagines watching him as he tears his clothes away in a hurry to join her in the water and her pulse quickens.

Or she could just wrap her arms around his waist, push herself up on her tiptoes and nibble on his earlobe, whisper that she got all their chores are completed and she needs him to fuck her, now, fast and dirty. She’d beg him to bend her over the back of the rover, use the gun duffel as a pillow as he slammed into her from behind.

But before she chooses a course of action, she sees him pull out a shock baton from the duffel and inspect it.

Her desire cools abruptly and guilt, familiar and oppressing, tastes bitter in her tongue. 

“Hey.”

Startled, Clarke jerks and looks at him. So much for a sexy surprise. She attempts to smile but her eyes flit back to the shock baton resting innocently beside the duffle bag and her stomach twists in knots.

“Are you okay?”

He cups her jaw and Clarke turns into his touch, the warmth of his big hand on her suddenly clammy face a temptation she’s too weak to resist. The worry laced in his tone warms her soul. She’s about to blurt out that she’s fine, just distracted, and drag him away to have her wicked way with him, but the shock baton tugs at her gaze again and she curves the desire to pretend it doesn’t bother her. She’s been doing that too long and the remorse hasn’t lessened by her actively brushing it aside.  

“Actually,” she starts, pulse beating erratically and mouth dry. “There’s something.”

Bellamy nods and leans back on the tailgate, his feet apart and pulling her to stand between his legs. He rests his large hands on her hips but goes no further. Clarke curls into his heat despite the summer sun beating down on them. The physical contact has a dual effect: on the one hand it soothes her but on the other, it makes the guilt and remorse all the more sharp. He waits patiently for her to continue talking and when she does, she fixes her gaze on his neck, too cowardly to look into his eyes.

“I just – ” She swallows, frustrated with her inadequacy to put what bothers her into words. It’s not that voicing it makes it real. It’s been real enough. But admitting it to him is hard, harder still because it won’t fix anything. An apology, however heartfelt, doesn’t quite cut it. How can she make amends for what she did?

He tilts her chin up and she shuts her eyes stubbornly until the feeling of his intent stare is too much. His eyes shine with concern and a hint of fear. “Clarke?”

“I want to apologize,” she says finally. Words clog in her throat, the guilt and shame amassing them until they form a ball that threatens to cut off her breathing. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

The wild fear and confusion in his gaze would be funny if she wasn’t so ashamed of herself.

“What are you talking about? You didn’t hurt me.”

“I did.” She swallows thickly and nods at the shock baton. “With that.”

Bellamy frowns and follows her eyes, confusion clouding his features until his gaze falls on the weapon. Then his brow clears and he looks back at her with impossibly tender softness. “That’s what’s bothering you? Clarke, I’m not holding a grudge about what happened that day. It’s long behind us.” He squeezes her hips and searches her face, but she’s not willing to let herself be left off the hook so easily. 

“It’s not that simple. I hurt you. You, Bellamy, someone I – ” She cuts herself off before she says something that has not place in this conversation.

“Okay. I arrested you, you resisted. We’re even,” Bellamy states, eyes narrowing when she shakes her head. “Clarke. Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is!” she insists, pushing herself off him. Not enough that she leaves the intimate space between his spread legs, but putting some distance between their chests. “You may have arrested me, but you didn’t physically harm me. And you knew Pike wouldn’t hurt me either.”

His jaw sets and a combination of embarrassment and anger descends upon him. It’s not directed at her, but at himself. Clarke is familiar with the feeling. “You didn’t want to stay. I forced you.”

“It’s not the same, you didn’t hurt me. Bellamy, I shocked you and knocked you out cold. Please don’t try to convince me that handcuffing me and trying to make me trade one prison for another is as bad as that.”

He glares at her, but his touch is still gentle where his hands rest on her hips. “Physical pain is not necessarily worse than emotional pain, Clarke. You would’ve hated me for taking your freedom and keeping you there against your will. That’s way worse than being incapacitated for ten minutes before walking it off.”

She didn’t hate Lexa for doing essentially the same thing, in fact she took it as a blessing in disguise. Her choice to leave was gone so she had to face her and thus a relationship she thought unlikely bloomed. The circumstances forced it but that allowed her the freedom to explore what could be between them. It’s a paradox of captivity, but that’s how she felt about it. Maybe if Bellamy had prevailed, she would’ve been forced to face what she was running from earlier than she did. Maybe she could’ve crossed the distance she willingly put between herself and the people she loved. Maybe by taking her freedom that day, he would’ve given it back in it’s purest form.  

Clarke doesn’t say any of it. She bites her lip and shakes her head. “I’m sorry but I don’t see it that way.”

His jaw twitches. “Okay. I’m sorry I arrested you and I forgive you for shocking me. There.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, frustration bubbling inside her. “You don’t mean it.”

Bellamy snorts. “I’m not even mad about it, Clarke. But if that’s what you need, then you got it.” His voice softens and he touches his index to her chin, tilting her face up and looking deeply into her eyes. “You’re forgiven.” 

Tears pool in her eyes. The absolution Bellamy offers her is sincere, it’s honest and pure just like her feelings for him. She wants it to be enough but it’s not. The last time she felt like this, the last time guilt ate at her and he offered her forgiveness, she ended up leaving him subjecting herself to three months of isolation as punishment. That time away was incredibly hard, but it cleansed her in a way. What she’d done at Mount Weather and TonDC demanded retribution and the only way she knew how to pay for her crimes was her self-imposed exile. 

“I don’t need to be forgiven, Bellamy,” she says finally, her voice small and pained. “I need to be punished.” 

He visibly reels back from her statement, blinking rapidly, the shock and confusion in his eyes speaking volumes. 

“The more I – the closer you and I get, it’s worse,” Clarke explains. “You make me so happy that sometimes I can forget and ignore this thing building up inside me. But other times I can’t. I look at you and remember what I did and it’s like my entire body itches to make it right, except I don’t know how so I’m left hating myself.”

“And my forgiveness is not enough, you need – ” he swallows thickly and looks away, a grey pallor spreading through his sun kissed complexion. “You need to be punished.” A notion intrudes in his thoughts, she can see it in his face as clear as the day. “Is that why you left after Mount Weather?”

Clarke doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Bellamy’s jaw sets. “Are you going to leave again?”

“I promised you I’d never leave you again,” she reminds him firmly. “But I need to pay somehow. Do you understand?”

He sighs wearily. “I’m trying to.” His hand finds hers and they seamlessly twine their fingers. “What do you need? How would you – ” he swallows, seems to arms himself to say the last word. “- pay?”

“I committed a crime,” she starts slowly. “What does the Exodus Charter estipulate?”

He starts shaking his head before she even finishes the question. “No fucking way. No.”

“Bellamy – ”

“No, Clarke. I’m not going to tie you up and shock lash you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you tied me up,” she points out.

His eyes widen with shock. “But not to hurt you. You’re asking me to do the same thing to you that’s making you feel so guilty,” he argues heatedly. “I won’t. I’d rather cut off my arm than lay a hand on you.”

Tears prickle at her eyes. This is getting them nowhere.

Minutes pass, only the sounds of the rippling water and their harsh breathings disrupting the silence. Then Bellamy cups her jaw and Clarke turns her eyes to him.

“Are you sure this is what you need?”

Emotion clogs in her throat as she nods emphatically.

“I’ll punish you,” Bellamy agrees, but not easily. His face is hard and his eyes are stormy. She knows this is taking its toll on him. “But it’ll be on my terms. If you accept now, you’ll get your punishment and after we’re done you’ll put this behind you. No more feeling guilty about what happened. You can’t change your mind later and decide you need a worse punishment. This is it. Do we have a deal?”

“What exactly are the terms?”

He takes a big breath. “According to the Exodus Charter, resisting arrest and assaulting a guard are punishable by three shock lashes each on bare skin at medium frequency.” He shows her the shock baton where a flat knob on the side regulates the voltage. There are seven settings and he has it on the second highest. He turns the knob, setting it to four. “You’d barely be able to stand after the third lash. You’d bruise badly and the shock lashes would likely break the skin and draw blood, and the after effects of prolonged exposure to this kind of weapon aren’t pleasant either. But like I said before, I won’t hurt you.”

He turns the knob to the lowest setting and before Clarke can stop him, touches the end of the baton to the inside of his bare wrist. The sound of crackling electricity is very faint. Then he searches her face and slowly applies the baton to her exposed forearm.

The electricity bites and tingles as it spreads through her flesh, but doesn’t exactly hurt. She’s tempted to shake her arm to get rid of the strange feeling, as if ants were crawling under her skin.

“That doesn’t hurt,” she says. There’s no way she’ll accept this punishment if he’s going to go so easy on her. “It needs to be stronger. Six lashes at that voltage are ridiculously easy to endure.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I’m not going to give you six shock lashes. I’m going to use this on you – ” he holds up the shock baton. “ – and you’re going to give me six orgasms. No rest, back to back. I’m going to push you hard. That will be your punishment.”

Clarke’s mouth dries up and she swallows continuously to create some moisture. A string of orgasms isn’t exactly what she had in mind. Far from it actually. The idea intrigues her, it arouses her, but it’s not what she needs. Much as she loves putting herself in Bellamy’s capable hands and the pleasure they deliver, to pay for what she did, to be able to put it behind her, the punishment needs to be something that hurts her, something she doesn’t want. Being in exile was horrible. She hated it, but it served its purpose. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bellamy interrupts her train of thought. “This isn’t going to be easy or fun. The first two orgasms, yeah, they’ll feel good, but after that? Each one that follows will be progressively worse. When the fourth rolls around, you’ll hate it and beg me to stop, but I won’t until I’m done with you.”

Carefully, he applies the shock baton to the same spot on her forearm where he touched her before. She’s exposed to the biting tingle again and while it doesn’t hurt, it is uncomfortable. Prolonged exposure will probably be unbearable and applied to her tender pussy? Yeah, it doesn’t sound too fun actually.

She looks up at him and finds his intent gaze trained on her. There’s pain there too, intense and raw. He doesn’t want to do this but he’ll do it because she needs it. “And once you’ve taken your punishment, you’ll forgive yourself and put what happened behind you. I need you to promise me you will, Clarke, because I never want to have to do this again. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” she agrees.

Bellamy nods, no more than a curt acknowledgement of her decision. His face is unreadable but Clarke can see under his façade. He is arming himself for what comes next, methodically stepping into the role he has to play to carry out her punishment. 

“Strip. Keep the boots.”

She does as instructed, removing her clothes with unadorned efficiency. Meanwhile, Bellamy rummages through the contents of his duffel bag, producing a pair of handcuffs and two long strips of cloth from the medkit. Clarke tampers down the urge to laugh hysterically. Her mind flashes back to two days ago, when he handcuffed her hands behind her back and bent her over the table, fucking her right then at the Council room while she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood in order to keep quiet. But now, the handcuffs aren’t an element to add to her pleasure. She’d worn them when he arrested her too, and she’ll wear them now. The symmetry between crime and punishment satisfies her.

Bellamy holds her hand and guides her past the tree line. Clarke follows his long strides practically skipping, eager to leave the beach. While the rover offered some strategic cover, Luna’s scouts are likely keeping a close eye on them. She doesn’t want to put up a show for them and she bets Bellamy, protective of her as he is, doesn’t either. 

She sighs with relief when they enter the woods. It’s cooler here than on the open beach, the summer heat placated by the thick cover of treetops dense with greenery. They don’t go far. Bellamy seems to be looking for something, his head turning this side and the other as he inspects their surroundings.

“This is about the right height,” he says at last, stopping before a tree with a thick low hanging branch. 

He offers a comforting squeeze before dropping her hand and stepping away from her to closely inspect the branch, circling it with his large hands and putting his weight on it to check the resistance. Satisfied, he dusts his hands on his cargo pants before turning to her.

“For this to work, I need to restrain you,” he tells her. “Are you okay with that?”

Clarke nods. “I figured.”

He takes one of her hands, gently curling his fingers around her small wrist. His thumb rubs soothing circles on the inside of her forearm and Clarke shivers, stepping closer to him, drawn to his heat. 

Bellamy touches her face, tilting her chin up to stare deeply into her eyes. Every time he looks at her like that, she feels her insides melting. No matter when or where, her heart soars and her belly heats. “I know you’re not supposed to like this since that would defeat the purpose of a punishment, but please don’t let me cross the line. You know how to make me stop.”

His tone and eyes beseech her, beg her to give him this one assurance. She’s asking a lot of him and he’ll give her what she needs, but Bellamy needs something in return. Despite her need to be punished, to pay for what she did to him, he needs her to remove herself from what is essentially a selfish need and care for his. If she doesn’t, this could break him and she doesn’t what that. The remorse she carries after hurting him is the last thing holding her back from giving in completely into her feelings for him. This is supposed to make them stronger, not break them.

She buries her face on the crook of her neck, inhaling his sharp scent and pressing her lips to the spot where the wide plains of his shoulders give way to the strong column of his neck. “I promise.”

Bellamy hugs her, buries his nose in her loose hair and nods.

He takes the long strips of cloth and fashions hand-wrist wraps on both her wrists, tying the ends together with neat knots. A thrill starts up the low of her back when he cuffs her right hand. And when he holds her arm high up and loops the handcuffs over the thick branch, cuffing her other hand so she’s hanging there, adrenaline pumps into her veins and courses through her. She’s excited and she can’t help it.

She’s bound but she has enough slack that her arms bend at the elbow. After a quick search Bellamy comes back with another branch, maybe half a meter long and thick as his fist. He patiently tears off all the little twigs and leaves clinging to it until the branch is smooth. Clarke doesn’t have long to wonder what it’s for.

He crouches before her, aligning his face with her crotch. Clarke shivers and resists the urge to buck her hips closer to him, silently asking him to bury his nose in the neat crown of golden curls. This close, he can probably smell the juices pooled between her legs and see the moisture clinging to her curls. She sees him lick his lips and swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple drawing her attention as if it has its own magnetic field.

He’s resisting the urge to kiss her. This is a punishment, it’s not supposed to be fun or enjoyable. But she can’t help the way her body reacts to him and, evidently, Bellamy has the same problem.

He blinks and looks away, his chest rising up and down rapidly. Clarke realizes she’s panting a little too and tries to control her breathing by taking measures breaths.

Bellamy wraps his hands around her right ankle, gently pushing it outwards. He does the same with her left foot. Her boots drag dirt as her legs spread to his liking and the wider they go, the more the slack on her arms reduces until her arms are straight. Finally, Bellamy takes the naked branch and places it so that each end touches the inside of her booted feet. 

The way he’s arranged her, she forms an inverted Y. Clarke tries to move but closing her legs is impossible. She tries to push herself up with her arms but she doesn’t have enough upper body strength. Her feet are firmly planted on the ground so her balance is not impaired but her movements are severely limited.

For the first time, tendrils of fear lick at the back of her neck. The feeling might be irrational since both her brain and her heart know Bellamy will never abuse her body or her trust. That is beyond question. She knows this, intellectually, but the fear is still there, as sharp as the electric shock of his baton. 

Confusing as that fear is to her logical mind, it has nothing on its effects. As her heart begins a rapid tattoo against her ribcage and goosebumps break over her skin, she becomes aware of fresh wetness seeping through her slit, dampening her outer folds and the insides of her thighs. She was turned on before he bound her so completely, but the fear she discovered in her new state adds a sharp edge to her arousal.

Bellamy starts by touching the shock baton to her belly, drawing a spiral around her navel. The electricity crackles and tingles softly in its wake and her abs – yes she has abs – contract and relax at the contact. It doesn’t hurt but anticipation and anxiety mix and roll within her, trying to predict where he’ll touch her next. Her body has a mind of its own and arches into the shock as the baton trails up to the underside of her breasts, only to attempt to pull away when the electric bite makes contact with that tender flesh.

Bellamy’s large hand cups her hip, steadying her, soothing an emotional ache she doesn’t understand. The shock baton circles her areola and Clarke gasps, throws her head back and pushes her chest closer to the exquisite bite. She realizes his other hand is moving, massaging her ass and the back of her thigh. As electricity tickles sharply across the valley between her breasts to bestow attention upon her other nipple, his hand cups her cunt, becoming instantly wet with her copious juices. His hand is large enough that he covers her completely, the tips of his fingers resting against the tight ring of anal muscles while the heel of his hand presses against her cleft and puts welcome pressure on her clit.

She bucks against his hand as he touches the shock baton to her crested nipples, one after the other in a relentless dance. His fingers trace her slit and, coated with her viscous arousal, they rub tight circles over and around her clit. He knows just how to get her off, adding more pressure right above her clit and flicking the hood protecting her sensitive nub. At another time he might’ve eased back and tried to draw it out, prolong the delicious torment before the orgasm finally explodes within her. But not now. 

This orgasm, the first of six to come, hits her with the sharp intensity of a rapid buildup. It pulses throughout her body releasing bliss into her bloodstream. 

It starts again before she can really come down from the high.

Clarke blinks her eyes open, her vision fuzzy around the edges. She sees bright sunshine filter through the thick treetops, the tiny spots of warm light dancing over her fair skin. Bellamy cups her cunt in his large hand and she blushes, embarrassed by how turned on she is. Fingers probe at her entrance and she moans softly. Her walls are still quivering with the aftershocks of the orgasm, but Bellamy isn’t deterred. She stares at him, the look of rapt concentration on his face incredibly riveting. His attention is fixed on her breasts where her nipples have grown soft and puffy after her orgasm, so incredibly sensitive that the touch of the baton might be excruciating. 

But isn’t that the point of this? Clarke shakes herself, anger and irritation bubbling inside her at her temporary lapse. So far she feels good but she knows, because Bellamy told her and she knows her body, that it won’t last for long. She may enjoy these moments before the punishment decidedly starts to take its toll on her, but she can’t fool herself even for one second and believe it won’t.

Bellamy’s fingers in her cunt abandon their slow thrusting and begin to methodically rub that spot about two thirds into her channel along the front wall. Her whole body jerks. He’s made her come like this in the past, but always while he held her close to his body and whispered sweet words of encouragement in her ear. The difference to this encounter, the distance between them, the almost clinical way he’s touching her drive home the point that this not a fun loving tryst. As his fingers drive harder into her and electric kisses bite the insides of her thighs, she realizes that difference in demeanor serves a purpose. It helps Bellamy curb his natural inclination to comfort her, and that allows him to continue playing this brutal role he has to perform for her. She idly wonders how long he’ll resist.

Electricity licks at the edges of her outer folds while his fingers continue their relentless assault on her g-spot. Clarke twists her hips, the stimulation too much and not enough at the same time. She clamps her cunt muscles around his fingers, surprised when a soft growl passes Bellamy’s lips. The passion-laden sound goes to her head and a heady feeling wraps around her, like she’s at the brink of something wonderful. 

She rides that moment for a long second and then, with the shock baton releasing a faint charge at the top of her cleft and Bellamy’s fingers crooked within her at just the right angle, the orgasm crashes through her, expanding from her pelvis like a devastating wave. She cries out, words unrecognizable but with unimpeded pleasure beating behind them.

His hand is completely soaked. He demonstrates this to her by removing his fingers from her slick sex and wiping his hand on the curve of her ass. The sticky juices cling to her skin and the gentle breeze cools them. Clarke pants, tries to catch her breath, but a shock directly above her clit surprises her. She cries out and jerks away – it’s too soon, she’s too sensitive – but her movements are limited. He saw to that when he tied her up and devised a way to maintain her legs spread open.

Bellamy doesn’t relent and the sharp tickle of electricity licks the inside of her cleft in a loose circle around her distended clit. Clarke shivers, spasmodic movements she can’t control, and wraps her hands around the branch holding her up, clinging to it to escape the excruciating pleasure. She bites her lip, embarrassed by the sounds she’s making, pitiful whimpers with and aftertaste of dark desire. 

This orgasm comes quick as a flash. When it starts, Bellamy thankfully removes the shock baton from her clit, but his fingers are quick to take its place, pressing on her excited nub, not rubbing or flicking it, just applying steady pressure there to draw out the orgasm to maximum intensity.

Clarke slumps, a thin sheen of sweat covering her naked body. He was right. This is no fun at all, and she’s only halfway done.

“You’re doing great,” Bellamy tells her, as if privy to her internal monologue, and presses his lips to her sweaty temple. 

She doesn’t argue. She starts to seriously doubt she’ll make it to orgasm number six before giving him the word that will make him stop, no questions asked.  _ “We need a code word,” _ he’d told her weeks ago.  _ “Something that is unlikely to come up when we’re having sex so if you use it, I’ll know I need to back off. Like a safety measure.” _ She’d rolled her eyes and assured him it wasn’t necessary. Bellamy is a demanding but incredibly thoughtful lover and he’s never pushed her past a limit she didn’t want to cross. But he still felt uneasy so she’d relented and they settled on a word that is laden with sufficient meaning to them but that neither would use in the throes of passion:  _ bunker _ . 

Clarke has never been even close to tempted to use the word. Until now. 

_ And then what? You go back to feeling shitty and guilty and it’ll never stop. The punishment gives it a finite end _ , she reminds herself.

Clarke nods and pushes herself up. Bellamy takes it as confirmation that she’s good to go. The next three orgasms will come with their fair share of pain, but she’ll take it. Even now she can feel the burden of guilt lifting from her shoulders. She can only imagine how sweet the relief will feel when she completes her punishment.

Bellamy switches attention back to her breasts and Clarke feels close to tears, grateful for the short respite to her tender cunt. Her puffy nipples aren’t too grateful for the shocks applied to them or the almost cruel way Bellamy twists them. So far, he’s only used the tip of the baton on her so when he runs the whole length of it over the side of her breast, exposing the electric shock to a larger section of skin rather than the concentrated points where the tip touched her, Clarke can’t help the wail that leaves her. Then he does the same over her nipple, rolling the shaft over the bunched up areola and beaded point and Clarke shifts uncontrollably in an effort to escape the shock.

Bellamy cuts off the electric discharge. She shakes and swallows, tries to shift her weight between her legs but it’s no use. Her eyes are firmly shut as she struggles to get herself under control but Bellamy’s warm mouth closing around her abused nipple shatters whatever progress she made in that front. He bathes her nipple with a tenderness that melts her and brings tears to her eyes. The ache of the electric bite remains but with his wet tongue caressing her, the pain morphs into something dangerously pleasurable.

He innocently inches the baton down her body. Without the electric discharge, it’s nothing more than a piece of metal. The shaft, smooth but for the ridges where it folds onto itself, caresses her skin as it travels down her abdomen and sneaks between her thighs. He presses it against her slit and her swollen folds part to make way. The gleaming metal becomes slick with the evidence of her prior orgasms. Bellamy moves his hand and the shaft glides against her, the measured ridges bumping her oversensitive clit. The hypnotic glide against her cunt and the firm suckling at her nipple conspire to reignite her desire and, despite her weariness and over sensitivity, her traitorous body responds to the assault on her senses. 

Carefully, Bellamy inserts the metal shaft into her cunt. Clarke freezes. Surely he won’t release a shock while that thing is inside her. She holds steady, fear and reluctant arousal warring within her exhausted body as Bellamy suck and nibbles on her pointed nipples and fucks her methodically with the shock baton. The metal is considerably hot, a byproduct of the electric charges it creates, and as it fucks into her she feels her walls quiver at the heat. The ridges bump at her opening, gently forcing the sensitive ring of flesh to give way for each new section of the metal shaft, one thicker than the other. Clarke looks down, past Bellamy’s dark head inclined over her breast as he feasts on them, and her eyes fall on the obscene sight of his hand driving the shock baton into her cunt, fucking her with a quiet ferocity.

She turns her face away from the sight, shuts her eyes tight even as she feels her walls contracting around the metal invader, confusion and embarrassment mixing with the painfully sweet release of the orgasm that slams into her.

Blood rushes to her ears and tears well in her eyes. Bellamy holds the sock baton deep and her cunt pulses around it, massaging every unyielding edge. He touches his lips to her temple. “You’re almost done.”

Clarke nods shakily, tears mixing with her sweat and collecting at the corners of her lips. She tastes the saltiness, parched lips grateful for the moisture, and tells herself once again that she wanted this. The reminder helps her breathe easier. It won’t be long before she’s paid in full for hurting Bellamy. Every time she thinks it’s too much, she can’t take it, she thinks back to that moment months ago when in her urge to escape Arkadia she shock lashed him. She remembers vividly the sound he made, surprise giving way to pain, and how he’d seized before dropping like dead weight. He was unconscious and unmoving when she left him there, all alone in that hallway. How long did it take for someone to find him and help him? What if no one did, what if he just came to after a while, all alone, hurting and disappointed?

She’s been so angry at Octavia for what she did to her brother, for taking out her anger and pain on the one person who loves her unconditionally, but Clarke is no better. And Bellamy, sweet, self-loathing Bellamy just accepted it. 

This is why she needs to be punished. This is why every time he forces her body to react she hates it and loves it, because it’s cleansing her sin. This is how she makes things right between them. This is how she moves on. Bellamy might not hold a grudge against her for what she did, but Clarke carries it like a stain on her soul and now, being so close to finally being absolved, she can practically taste the freedom that offers her. 

Her hands cramp and it’s hard to remain upright. She shakes her fingers, tries to grab hold on the branch that’s supporting her but her tired arms give out. Sensing her struggle, Bellamy wraps a strong arm around her waist, holding her against his chest and reducing the strain in her arms. She wonders how much time has passed since they walked into the woods, but her dispersed mind can’t come up with an answer. The sun is still high in the sky so it can’t be too long since they started, but to her weary body it’s been hours since she was strung up on this tree.

Bellamy presses his cheek to the top of her head and she feels him take a big breath. Instinctually, Clarke knows the reprieve is over and they’re back on business. He pulls the shaft out of her and releases a shock just as the tip of the baton leaves her. The shock doesn’t connect with her body, but the hum of electricity tickles her opening and the surrounding tissues. Clarke whimpers and buries her face in his solid chest. Even that little stimulation is too much. He trails the tip of the shaft upwards and the shocks paint the inside of her swollen folds at irregular, impossible to predict intervals. He touches that spot right under her clit, delivers two quick shocks there and Clarke flies apart. Her whole body jerks in his arms as the violent climax pulses through her, sobs and wails torn from her throat. 

Bellamy kisses the top of her head, her temples, her forehead. He told her from the get go that he didn’t want to do this to her, but her carried on anyway because it was what she needed. And now seeing her distress, he still holds strong. Because he loves her.

The knowledge sits right with her, and she holds it close to her heart. It gives her the necessary strength to hold firm when he says, thickly, “One more.”

He doesn’t bother with buildup this time. There’s no need, she’s too far gone, too keyed up. He just presses the sock baton to her slit so that her folds hug the length of the shaft, her throbbing clit snug against the base, and before she can steel herself, he releases a single electric discharge.

Before this experience, Clarke only had and academic understanding of the phrases “hurts so good” and “so good it hurts”. She knew what they were supposed to mean but never experienced something in the flesh that could be described by those expressions. Now they’re the only coherent thing that comes to mind as she’s thrown in a whirlwind of pain and dark pleasure.

Her cunt is so swollen it feels like it’s three times its usual size. It’s hot like molten lava and the inside of her thighs and even the crack between her ass cheeks are coated in her viscous juices. She throbs and aches in more places than she can count, chiefly her clit and the inside of her cunt and nipples. But also her arms, pulled too long over her head, her legs, muscles twitching and spasming uncontrollably as she’s held upright. The gentle breeze feels like sandpaper on her surface nerves and blows a cooling breath over her exposed and tender cunt, sending shivers to break havoc along her body. She’s close to blacking out, her sight is fuzzy around the edges and spots dance before her eyes. 

And through it all she can feel the smile stretching her parched lips. Before she slips into blissful oblivion she feels herself soar. She’s free.

* * *

They still have several hours before Luna’s scouts come for them, which Bellamy is immensely thankful for. He needs a visit from them right now like he needs to take a long walk under a shower of black rain.

Clarke burrows into his chest as if she wanted to carve herself a permanent place there and he adjusts his hold on her to make sure she’s not slipping. She’d make fun of him carrying her bridal style if she wasn’t currently incoherent and stuck some kind of half-asleep state since the last orgasm he extracted from her. And he’d worry – worry  _  more _ – if she wasn’t grinning so damn big. 

She thanked him before he released her from his improvised bondage. Didn’t say much more than that, repeated the words a few times actually, and replied to his inquiries about her emotional and physical state with a decisive, if dreamy, “I feel great.”

So, he guesses the whole punishment by orgasms thing worked. Good. May they never need to do that again. 

Walking back to the rover with Clarke snuggled in his arms, he wonders what she’d say if he told her he got the idea from porn.

While porn had thrived in the Ark’s black market, Bellamy never had the credit to afford it nor the privacy to enjoy it, since he shared single room quarters with his mom and sister. But that didn’t mean he’d never seen it. There was a kid in his grade, Buck Espinoza, who snuck out his dad’s stash of porn videos whenever he could and brought it out to show them during school recess. A bunch of horny preteens hunched over a tablet watching dirty movies with the volume turned down – but with the subtitles on – made a damn pitiful sight to him even when he was a horny preteen, but play along and make no waves had been Bellamy’s prime directive while growing up. Standing out risked someone blowing the whistle on their irregular home life so he had to blend in and pull at all stops in order to achieve that. Even if it meant watching porn with his classmates.

Anyway, one of the raunchiest videos from Mr. Espinoza’s collection starred a woman being severely disciplined for one offence or another. She was spanked bare handed and with a paddle, flogged on her tits and between her legs, and had a large vibrator used on her to make her come repeatedly before she was fucked roughly by the disciplinarian. Even without sound, in the video it was clear the woman was enjoying the rough treatment and, despite the teary eyed claims that she couldn’t take anymore, she came every time her disciplinarian pushed her over the edge. 

At the end of the brutal session, the guy told her she’d taken her punishment like a big girl and all was good again. A short behind the scenes clip was tacked at the end of the video and in it the actress was sipping contentedly from a bottle of water, snuggled in a fuzzy robe on a director’s chair and detailed everything she’d loved about the scene, especially the powerful and cleansing nature of being forced past her limits.

His classmates had been all over that video and it was on the A-list of Buck Espinoza’s movie shows. Bellamy had been secretly conflicted. It was hot, yes, and extreme, but it evoked something dark in him and he couldn’t seem to brush it off. His classmates had been content to watch a gorgeous woman get off over and over, but when Bellamy saw the video that wasn’t what his attention focused solely on. He couldn’t seem to put his finger on what it was, but he felt compelled to pick through the scenes, the disciplinarian’s hard-faced forcefulness, and the woman’s subdued acceptance of everything that was done to her. There seemed to be a firm balance between them beneath surface that carried the whole scene and showed a different light on the seemingly harsh abuse the woman suffered. 

He’d been too young and too inexperienced back then to understand the nuances of the relationship depicted on the video. 

When Clarke asked him to punish her, he recalled that video and knew that was the only way he’d accept to do it. He wasn’t exaggerating when he detailed the effects of a proper shock lashing. Having been on that end of the shock baton more than once, he has the authority to affirm it hurts like a motherfucker.

A string of six orgasms back to back isn’t a walk in the park either, but she’s not bruised, bleeding or suffering the other after effects of exposure to electric discharges, like painful muscle spasms that can last for hours. And if she keeps her promise, then this little deviation into the darker side of sex served its purpose and she’ll be able to move on from what happened months ago.

It still boggles his mind that she’s been feeling guilty for shock lashing him when she escaped Arkadia. He never thought it was such a big deal and when she confessed to him that it was, Bellamy’s not gonna lie, he thought she was being ridiculous and overreacting. But the taut lines of her face showed him her distress wasn’t the least bit fake. And then he put himself in her shoes, wondered how he would feel if he had done anything that physically hurt her.

He’d cut off his goddamned hand if he had.

So if he felt so strongly, why couldn’t she? Why was his first instinct to brush her concerns aside? Because he’d been the injured party and he’s been taking blows from the people he loves, one way or another, his entire life?

That’s why he accepted to punish her. Because if it’d been him, he’d want to make things right too. He’d want to repent and pay in full.

Bellamy stops at the back of the rover, studying the floor with a critical eye. He can’t put Clarke on the cold metal floor, or the benches since they’re a poor improvement in the comfort department. They brought sleeping bags and other camping shit, but it’s all packed away. He can’t unroll them while his arms are full of, well, Clarke.

He rounds the rover in a few long strides and frees one hand to open the passenger door, by raising a knee and lodging it against her bottom to momentarily support her weight. Clarke makes a noise of complaint when he deposits her on the padded seat, throws her arms around his neck and clings to him.

He sighs and cups the back of her head, combs his fingers through her hair in a soothing manner. “I’ll be right back.” He drops a kiss to her forehead.

Unconvinced, Clarke whines and shifts on the seat, throws her legs around his waist and crossing her ankles at the small of his back as she clings harder to his neck. He could step away from the rover right now and the force of her hold would be enough to support her. She is  _ attached _ to him.

Her crotch makes contact with his stubborn hard on and she shifts against him, bucking and sighing softly. Bellamy has to carefully pry her limbs off of him and pulls away under her faint protests. “I’ll only be gone two minutes, Clarke. That’s a promise.”

She accepts it reluctantly and curls in the passenger seat, hugging her legs to her chest.

Bellamy adjusts his pants, glaring at the impressive tent. “Go away,” he growls under his breath.

But while he unrolls the sleeping bags and arranges them one over the other for added comfort, the unwanted boner remains. He’s so hard he could burst through concrete, and it pisses him off.

He’s ashamed to admit he wasn’t able to keep it under control during the punishment. It shouldn’t have turned him on. It wasn’t so difficult to manage at first. There was nothing extreme or unfamiliar – shock baton aside – about those first three orgasms, and if he wanted to, he could’ve fooled himself everything was normal and they were just having sex as usual. Extensive foreplay sessions are pretty much the norm for them, after all.

But he wouldn’t let himself forget the penalizing nature of this encounter, and that kept him sharp. He was able to keep his distance from her so that every finger he laid on her body packed a measured, calculated touch to inflame her senses and bring her to climax.

When he began to really push her, that’s when his problem started. Clarke and him are no strangers to power games of the sexual nature. Except they’re not games to them, they’re needs. They discovered not long ago this is yet another aspect where they complement each other, connecting like two puzzle pieces with uniquely matching slots. Their trust in one another made it possible, so he guesses that’s why being in charge of her punishment affected him so powerfully.

But he fucking loves her. How can hurting her arouse him?

A voice in his head reminds him that Clarke was plenty into it too. Sure, he made it so she couldn’t not come from what he did to her, but she never begged him to stop. Never used the code word that would put an end to everything, no questions asked. If anything, she gave herself into the sensations he forced on her without reservation while he wrung pleasure out of her exhausted body.

And when they were done, a grin stretched her lips and peace fucking radiated from her. She told him she felt great and he knows she couldn’t be lying, both because he knows her and can tell when she’s bullshitting him, and because she wasn’t capable to fake her responses in the state she was in, and still is. It’s almost like she’s high or drunk, that’s the only way he can describe it, and every word out of her mouth comes through without a filter. It’s as honest as it gets.

Bellamy has a harder time being honest with himself. What does it say about him that he was aroused by having her so vulnerable and completely under his control? That pushing her past her limits whether she liked it or not turns him on? That when he forced her to orgasm when she was too exhausted to even stand upright, he experienced a sexual high almost strong enough to make him make a mess in his pants?

He’d felt powerful and invincible being allowed to direct her pleasure and pain in that setting. He liked it, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel.

Bellamy steps back and briefly judges his work. The two sleeping bags make a decent bed on the wide interior of the rover’s cargo area. It’s hot out but Clarke might be cold, so he leaves an orange emergency blanket on hand over the bench running along the right wall of the rover, next to a modest pile of washcloths, a canteen and a med kit courtesy of Mount Weather. Medical supplies are scarce but they can spare an analgesic. 

Satisfied that he has everything they need, Bellamy returns to the front and carries Clarke back. 

After placing her on the middle of the improvised bed, he sets out to clean her up. He starts on her face, gently wiping the sweat and tear tracks with a damp washcloth. Her neck, chest and arms follow in that order. He removes her boots and socks with careful tugs and runs the washcloth over her legs, admiring the fine blonde hairs and the curve of her calves, before starting on the inside of her legs.

He picks up a new washcloth, his hands shaking slightly as he presses it to the neck of the canteen and inclines it to wet the cloth. The insides of her thighs are sticky, her juices still haven’t dried like her sweat did over the rest of her body. He wipes them away with reverent care.

Her cunt takes his breath away. Her natural pink color has given way to an intense red, shiny and slick with the evidence of the many orgasms she had. Her folds are incredibly swollen, more than he’s ever seen them, and he’s quite acquainted with the sight of Clarke’s cunt in its various states, from the soft pink and neat lines of her folds before her arousal kicks in, the darker shade it takes when he’s worked it for a while and the lovely pulsing sight when she climaxes. There aren’t bruises or abrasions which is a relief, but her clit is so swollen its protecting hood is almost completely retracted around the distended nub.

And none of this is helping his hard on go away. Not one bit.

He makes haste of the task of cleaning her sex as much as possible without hurting her, and tries like hell to curve his body’s reaction. Not an easy feat when he’s so fascinated by the sight before him.

By some miracle he manages to not give into his baser instincts and finishes cleaning her up without incident. Then he helps Clarke sit up and drink some water, supporting her with an arm around her back and softly pressing the neck of the canteen to her parted lips. She fights him – as much as she can fight in her state, which isn’t a lot – when he tries to get her to take an analgesic but Bellamy holds firm and she grudgingly chases a tablet of ibuprofen with a sip of water.

She molds herself onto his side when he lays on the bed next to her. Bellamy holds her close, kisses the top of her head after covering her with the blanket and curses the persistent situation in his pants before settling in for a very uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

There's something on his dick.

Before he completely wakes up he has the panicky feeling that a snake has crawled into his pants and almost reaches for his gun. Luckily his brain kicks in then and he doesn’t do something rash like shooting his dick off before opening his eyes.

The something in his dick is Clarke’s hand.

She’s straddling the tops of his thighs, his pants undone and boxers pushed down. She’s got one hand wrapped around his pole as she slowly jerks him and the other pressed to the top of his thigh for support. She’s biting her bottom lip and watching him under her lashes with a wicked look in her eyes.

“Hi,” she says simply, and drops a kiss to the head of his cock.

A stronger man would probably be able to pull her way and insist they first talk about what happened earlier. Bellamy is not that man. 

It doesn’t take her long to get him off. His cock has craved attention for hours, it’s no surprise that a few firm strokes of her hand and those hungry lips wrapped around the head send him over the edge so fast. Clarke holds his cock up as the tip erupts, thick ribbons of pearly cum gushing down his shaft. She fairly milks him, licking up the pulsing column of his cock to catch every last bit of his seed. Cum spills onto her fingers and she licks those too.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath. During that time Clarke crawls ups his body until she can steal a kiss from his panting lips and drop her head on his chest with a content sigh. Bellamy wraps his arms around her waist. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were poking me, I couldn’t sleep,” she replies cheekily.

He laughs and shakes his head. 

“About before,” she starts slowly. Bellamy tenses up. Clarke pushes herself up and looks at him. “Thank you. I know that was a lot to ask for but it was exactly what I needed.”  

“Yeah?”

Clarke nods. “It was such a powerful release.”

“So you don’t feel guilty anymore?”

Her brow knits delicately. “I’ll always hate that I hurt you that day and I regret that it’s taken me so long to address the issue, but guilty? No. I paid for what I did. I can let it go.”

Bellamy heaves a sigh of relief. “You’re good then? What about pain, are you hurting?”

She shifts a little and her pussy brushes against his soft dick. “There’s some tenderness but other than that no. I am a little surprised by my reactions though,” she adds carefully.

Bellamy nods. He’s plenty surprised and confused by his reactions too.

“It’s confusing but… I feel properly punished, okay? I don’t want you to think that any of it was easy for me and that I’m still beating myself for what I did to you. The whole thing was rough, the last two orgasms were brutal,” Clarke exhales a puff of air and it tickles his chin. Her light frown denotes her internal state, her struggle to put to words what she’s feeling. Bellamy smooths the lines with the pad of his thumb. “But something about it was also deeply satisfying. Cleansing. I guess it’s no surprise that submitting to you like that was such a turn on,” she adds with a blush coloring her cheeks. “But the fact that I was aroused didn’t deter from the punishment. In fact, I think it’s what made it work.”

Bellamy considers her words and realizes they fall pretty much in line with his own mixed feelings. 

“I went into this whole thing expecting to hate every minute of it,” he confesses, and adds quickly before the disappointment in her face takes. “It’s confusing as fuck but I can’t deny that I liked doing those things to you. And maybe you’re right, it’s not surprising that you were as turned on by submitting to me as I was dominating you. The punishment took those roles to the extreme but it was still where we fit with each other.”

“So you didn’t hate it?” Clarke asks him with bated breath.

Bellamy swallows before answering honestly. “No. Not one bit.”

Her relieved smile brings brightness to the dim interior of the rover. She leans over and plants a wet kiss on his awaiting lips, drinking thirstily from his mouth. Bellamy’s hands roam the smooth expanse of her back and bottom, content to let her set the pace of the kiss. Her teeth pull playfully at his lips between deep kisses that inflame him, their tongues dancing in a gentle, lazy exchange. He massages the small of her back, the spots along her tailbone where he knows she carries tension. Clarke tenses for a split second when he makes contact with those sensitive spots, gasping sharply against his lips before she melts against him and starts to passionately devour his mouth, abandoning the initial slow pace.

Her breasts are flattened against his chest. Bellamy runs his hands up the curve of her waist, feeling the abrupt flare of her tits at her sides and he groans. Her tits are works of art and he shows his appretiation, groping her with reverent gentleness. 

Clarke moans against his lips, threads her fingers into his messy curls, pulls and holds him at just the right angle to ravish his mouth. She’s getting aggressive. That’s his cue to take control back from her.

He fists his hand on her hair and tugs back, exposing the delectable column of her neck. Clarke gasps, surprised at his abrupt change, and bears her crotch down on his. His pants are still open so he bets the teeth of the zipper teeth are doing a number on the inside of her thighs. His lips attach to her pulse point, nibbling and sucking until she whimpers and squirms. Her cunt is slippery where it presses against his pubic bone. Soothing the ache of his love bite on her neck, Bellamy uses one hand to direct her hips until the angle is just right and stiff cock glides between her folds. 

“You’re not ready to take me,” Bellamy warns her when she tries to angle her hips and get his cock inside her.

Clarke pants, eyes dark and hot. His bruise is stark against her fair throat and his dick twitches at the primitive mark. “So make me,” she urges.

Possessive need flares within him. Turning around is not exactly easy in the cramped space where they’ve made their bed, but Bellamy manages to maneuver her until she’s flat on her back with him kneeling between her legs.

He turns his attention directly to her gorgeous tits, sucking and pulling her nipples between his teeth until he gets them nice and hard. Clarke’s soft moans encourage him. He sinks his teeth on the curve of her right breast, biting slightly before bathing the pliant globe with his tongue. Clarke arches up and her tits bounce with the motion. He stares at her, transfixed, and gets his large hands to cup her breasts, pressing them together and burying his face in them. 

Her fingers get lost in the mass of curls in his head she pulls hard on the captive locks. The edge of pain spurs him on and Bellamy begins to lick and kiss a path down her ribs, her belly and the hollow of her hip, backing away until his broad shoulders keep her thighs spread and his face right over her cunt. His legs hang off the rover but it’s a minor concern.

Bellamy feels goosebumps breaking over her skin as his hot breath fans over her exposed sex. It’s less swollen than when he last inspected her, but it still bears the evidence of the harsh punishment, as well as the telling signs of her current desire. She’s shiny and flushed and her entrance quivers when his tongue darts out to daintily trace the opening. Clarke lets out a decidedly obscene moan and Bellamy looks up at her, almost losing himself in her lustful gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he leans forward and presses his lips to her trembling entrance. His tongue sneaks into her pussy, working her slowly, kissing her with the same gentleness and patience he would kiss an inexperienced lover. 

She bites her lip and her eyes roll back into her head. Fresh wetness bathes his tongue and he laps at it greedily. 

Her head drops with a soft thud as Bellamy parts her folds with his thumbs and groans as he takes a long swipe at the inside of her tender cunt, acquainting himself to the swollen tissues. He lightly traces the edges of her clit with the tip of his tongue, careful not to over stimulate the hypersensitive nub. Her taste and scent is heavenly. He buries his face against her, inhaling her secret scent and feeling her juices coat his face. He wants to carry her scent with him every day for the rest of his life.

A sharp whimper tears from her lips and goes straight to his cock. Clarke’s hips jerk up but he catches her easily, bringing them back down, his fingers digging on the inside of her thighs. Bellamy licks her with renewed enthusiasm, tracing her inner folds and gathering the sweet nectar at the entrance of her pussy. He pushes his tongue inside her, swirling, encouraged by her lewd moans and whimpers. 

Clarke thrashes, clawing at his scalp, panting. Her cunt quivers against the flat of his tongue and he can tell she’s close to coming. She uses her hold on his curls to push him away. “No,” she says and Bellamy immediately lifts his head to gauge the seriousness of her words, his chin and cheeks shining with her juices. “This time, I want you inside me when I come.” 

Bellamy goes rigid. The perverse need to hold himself deep in her sore cunt while she convulses around him claims his every thought.

He considers his options, what position he wants to take her in, various scenarios swimming in his head. His gaze drops to her delectable tits and he decides he wants to be able to see them bounce and hold them as he fucks her. Decision made, he scoots lower and slides off the rover. He grips the bottom edges of the sleeping bags and with a powerful tug slides the improvised bed with Clarke on it down until her legs dangle off the end of the rover.

Clarke yelps at the sudden movement, but catches on quick with his idea. She raises her legs and plants her feet beside her hips on the metal floor of the rover. His hands press down on the inside of her thighs, opening her until he cunt is accessible to him. He drops his pants and boxers to his ankles and dips his fingers into her channel, testing her readiness. She moans and her hands find her tits, pinching and pulling on her nipples.

Bellamy’s mouth dries up. The only thing that beats getting his hands and mouth on her tits is seeing Clarke play with them. He wraps his fist around his cock, pumping slowly as he watches her. Clarke bites her lip, her gaze going back and forth between his face and his cock and increasing the arousing massage on her tits.

He covers his dick on her copious wetness and presses the tip to her trembling entrance. Her breath stutters in her chest and she grips her tits as he begins to push into her, eyes firmly shut and her face a mask of rapt pleasure. He drives into her slowly, her cunt welcoming him with a tight clutch on his dick. When he touches bottom Clarke sighs, her hands travel down her soft belly and over her pubic bone, runs her knuckles where her pale curls tangle with his dark ones, scratches her short nails over the love bite she gave him on his pubic bone earlier that day.

Bellamy fairly comes right at that moment, but then she opens her mouth. “I love you.”

Her words knock out all the air in his lungs. “What did you just say?”

Clarke blinks her eyes open, seems to mentally go over the statement that got away from her. “I love you,” she repeats louder, firmer.

His heart does a funny thing, swelling and spilling in his chest. His fingers dig into her soft thighs and he pulls back halfway before slamming into her in a long, swift thrust.

“Say it again,” he demands, fucking her with a controlled pace that belies the tornado of feelings swirling inside him. Out slow, in hard.

Clarke gasps at a particularly hard thrust and her hands fly to his narrow hips and take hold. “I love you.”

His balls draw up. He’s close. He bends his knees a little achieving an angle that allows him to rub the bulbous head of his cock along her g-spot with every thrust. “Again,” he rasps.

“I love you, I love you.” Her throaty moans mix and mingle with her words. Her hands leave his hips and curl at the edges of the rover’s metal floor. Wild, Clarke uses that leverage to match his thrusts in strength and intensity. 

Bellamy leans forward, placing his hands by the sides of her head to support himself. His face hovers just above hers, their unsteady breaths mixing. The position doesn’t allow him to pull out like before, and he doesn’t want to leave Clarke at all. They buck against each other in a frenzy.

“One more,” he begs, lost in the hazy depths of her eyes.

He feels her walls clamp around his cock just as she gives him the words. “I love you.”

When the orgasm hits her, it tears through her with uncontrollable shudders. Bellamy presses his forehead to hers and groans, the raw sound coming directly from his core as his sac draws tight and he comes in long spurts deep inside her cunt, the contractions from her snug walls milking every drop of cum from his aching balls. Her name falls from his lips with a groan as he gives himself to the delectable pleasure of their joined climax.

Bellamy’s mind goes white, all his senses filled by her. His knees shake, they won’t hold him long, but he can’t move. Not yet. Clarke wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him close. Their chests move together as they try to catch their breaths.

“I love you, Bellamy.” The words are unprompted this time, Clarke’s lips hot against his neck. He wants to stay in the stronghold of her arms forever.

He finally moves off her and they both wince when his spent dick slips out of her slippery channel. Bellamy would like nothing more that laying with Clarke for a long while, their naked bodies pressed close together without barriers but he realizes in his haste to be with her, he did no more than push his pants and boxers down. He’s still wearing his shirt and his boots for fuck’s sake. He pulls up his pants and boxers, leaving the pants undone, and crawls into the rover. He collapses on his back beside Clarke, and she scoots to his side, throws her arm around his waist and insinuates her leg between his legs. They adjust comfortably until she’s pressed as close as possible to him and his chest pillows her cheek. 

“I love you too,” he confesses, his voice so quiet and soft it surprises him to hear it coming from his mouth.

Clarke squeezes him and Bellamy feels her lips press a kiss over his beating heart. “I know.”

He grins, thread his hand on her tousled hair, lovingly playing with the fine locks as they slip through his digits.

They stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s silent company, stealing lazy kisses and exchanging languid caresses. Bellamy stares out the rover at the sky fading from light blue to orange. He can’t see the sun with the back of the rover facing west but he can just picture it making its slow descend on the horizon.

“They’ll be here soon,” he says. The scouts will come for them and take them to the old oil rig and the ship Luna is lending them. That’s the first stop of their journey to visit the oasis of land located far north that will sustain life after the rest of the world burns. And if the place checks out, they can return for their people and everyone else who wants to join them. 

“We have time,” Clarke replies, and he knows she’s not just talking about the scouts’ arrival.

He touches his knuckles to the underside of her chin and tilts it up with reverence, staring deep into her eyes and finding she returns his loving gaze. “Yeah, we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I would love to get some feedback. This fic was emotionally exhausting to write as you can imagine, and your comments mean the world to me.
> 
> **7/18/17 EDIT: In case you missed it in the initial notes, fuck you, April/bellamyblakeprotectionsquad2k17/bbps.**


End file.
